


Asking

by Pouxin



Category: The Eagle of the Ninth - Rosemary Sutcliff, The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011), The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Smut, Uptight Romans, old stories, shameless blowjob smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6494803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pouxin/pseuds/Pouxin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esca finds out if you don't ask, you don't get.   Basically shameless blowjob porn</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asking

Esca is happy. 

He is happy with his life, he is happy with his work on the farm, and he is happy with Marcus. Marcus: his friend, his brother, his love. He is happy with what they do together, in the pitchy black of the British nights, under the warmth of their furs in the winter time, or the cool of their linen in the summer. Bodies pressed tight into each other, slotted curve to flute like Roman amphora; rutting and licking. Granted, it is not the same as the breathless trysts he enjoyed in his youth, in the honest and unflinching light of day; it is not how it was with Brys, the two of them barely out of boyhood, the first flush of desire still rosy warm upon their skin, standing proud and naked before each other, daring each other to go further, to go deeper, to uncover all of each other's secrets. But Marcus is different from Brys, and he is different from that other, earlier Esca. In fact, his boyhood-self seems almost like a stranger to him now. Yes, what he has with Marcus is perhaps less wild, less uninhibited, less spontaneous. But he has other things with Marcus. Comfort, companionship, _love_. These are not things he thought he would find again, and Esca values them above all else. 

Still, sometimes he watches Marcus, stripped to the waist in the sunshine as he labours on the farm, skin as slippery and supple as the shiny underbelly of a fish as he flexes and ripples in the light, damp with sweat, and he _wants_ , wants. Wants Marcus like that, in the bright centre of the day, unafraid. Wants Marcus on his hands and knees before him, gasping. _Wants_. Marcus will give his great, easy smile, clasp Esca's shoulder, and Esca will imagine those plump, proud lips stretched and slick around his cock. Every time that thought crosses his mind, his groin twitches with it, everything inside him pulling tight and aching. But he knows Marcus will not do those things, knows that Roman men do not do those things, knows if he were to voice his desires - dark and base - that it could snap the fragile, shimmering bond that pulls between them, heart to heart, brother to brother. So Esca does not ask these things of Marcus. Would never ask. 

One night they are lying, half sleeping, by the fire, Marcus' head cushioned in Esca's lap, full and saited after eating a whole leveret caught that morning, minced small with ox suit and marrow, sweetened with eggs and raisins. Esca's palate still tingles with the joy of it. These are the pleasures of his manhood now. A warm fire, a hearty meal, the head of the man he holds in his heart heavy and vulnerable upon his thighs. He thinks Marcus is asleep, but then the great dark head in his lap shifts, and Marcus presses a kiss to the jut of his hip bone, just visible above the waist of his braccae where his tunic has ridden up. Esca stills his hands where they lie threaded through the rich chestnut of Marcus' hair. Another kiss follows, damp and slow, pressed to the achingly sensitive skin to the west of Esca's navel. Then another. Esca's cock rears up under the rough material, as if _it_ knows, as if _it_ wants, straining for the warm lushness of Marcus' mouth. Esca's own mouth goes dry. He tightens his fingers ever so slightly, angles his hips - gentle, gentle, as if he is stalking a deer. Tries to turn Marcus' head towards the quivering centre of his own need, pulled as taut as a bow string. Marcus allows his head to shift, the arc of one broad cheek bone to brush against the swollen tip of Esca's cock. Esca bites back a gasp. He wants to pull Marcus' perfect pouting mouth open with rough thumbs. He wants to make Marcus unlace his braccae with his teeth. He wants Marcus hot and desperate for his cock, whimpering for it, going warm and limp with joy when Esca finally pushes it between his lips. Oh, he _wants_. Marcus kisses him again, gentle, just to the side of where his prick is tenting the cloth of his trousers. Esca's hands almost tremble with it. He guides Marcus' head again, careful, soft.

"Marcus?" he asks. It is a question.

In answer Marcus pulls free of his hands and sits up, and clasps Esca to him, and they kiss, warm and full of affection, and then they go to the sleeping chamber and rub against each other until they spend in their clothes, and then they sleep. It is a fine thing, and Esca is happy. It is too much, he wants too much. He is happy. He does not need those other things; the foolish, needful things of his youth. 

He wonders if he imagined how things went that night, before the fire. Wonders how Marcus could not have known what he was doing, what he seemed to be promising. He ponders it, then tries to put it out of his mind. But he finds he cannot. He shames himself twice in his sleep over the next few weeks, both times waking with a start in the dark, sticky and wet with his own spend, still shivering from dreams where Marcus is working his mouth over him; his wet, gorgeous, generous mouth. _Shame_. Marcus is his true friend, his blood. More than that. His heart's own darling. It would horrify Marcus to know Esca thinks these things. Marcus who is so right and proper in all things, so noble. Esca will say nothing. _Nothing_.

But then one day they are out in the fields, having finished eating some of the morning's bread to rebuild their strength for the afternoon's work. Esca is lying on his back, stretched out under the cool dappled shade of a tree, hands braced behind his neck, eyes closed. Just a few moments more, then he will rise and carry on with his work. He hears Marcus shift beside him, feels the hot softness of Marcus' head settle on his belly. Bites back a curse as his errant cock welcomes Marcus wholeheartedly, immediately thickening with lust, growing fat with blood inside his braccae. He risks cracking open an eyelid. Marcus is looking up at him, one eyebrow raised, quizzical. Thank the gods though, he doesn't look appalled. Just amused, teasing.

"I am sorry," Esca mutters.

"Hm." Marcus rolls his head round, facing away from Esca, so his mouth is heart-thuddingly close to the growing lump inside Esca's trousers. Esca shifts uneasily. 

"Sorry," he tries again. He wishes Marcus would move. He thinks Marcus probably doesn't understand what it is he does to him, this sweet torture. Marcus exhales heavily though his nose, and Esca can feel the hot gust of breath on him even through the thick cloth of his braccae. _Sweet_. He goes to nudge Marcus' head off him, but Marcus lifts his hand and places some firm, warm fingers against Esca's bony hip, steadying him as if he were a skittish colt. 

"You don't need to apologise to me," he says gently, face still turned away. 

"Yes, well..." Esca mumbles. He shimmies his hips again, but Marcus will not be unseated. He turns his head back to face Esca.

"Do I embarrass you?" he asks. His face is open, trusting. Esca's heart lurches with shame at his own dirty imaginings.

"No!" he says emphatically. "No. I embarrass me. I do. The things I think, the things I want, I -" he cuts himself off, immediately wishing he had said less, had revealed less of himself.

Marcus' eyes are very soft and green, his face still calm. 

"What things?" he asks. "What things do you think on, Esca? What is it that you want?"

"I want-" Esca physically bites his own lip to stop himself from speaking. "I want only what you want. I don't want anything else other than what you give me."

"What is it that you want?" Marcus repeats, apparently unhearing, eyes still trained on Esca's shuttered face. The hand on his hip presses down, squeezes him so Esca can feel the hard ridge of Marcus' dolphin ring against the curve of the bones there.

"I want you to put your mouth on me," Esca says in a rush, his own mouth feeling sticky with the words, hardly able to believe his own daring. He feels the blood rise hot in his cheeks. He chances a glance down at Marcus.

Marcus' eyes have gone a very dark, rich green; deeper and more precious than the emerald set in the ring Esca can still feel like burning against the thin skin of his hips. His pupils look massive. He does not look disgusted, as Esca had feared. Instead his face looks just as open as before, but warmer, transfigured with something.

"Where should I put my mouth on you, Esca?" he asks, voice low and curling.

"On my... on my..." Esca shifts his hips again, so the tip of his erection nudges the back of Marcus' head. "On my cock."

"Ah," Marcus half smiles. "You want me to suck your prick. Am I right?"

Just hearing Marcus, normally so reserved and careful, say those words is enough to drive Esca to distraction. They do not speak of carnal things. What happens between them in the dark of their room at night is not something they have ever discussed, even in passing. And now here Marcus is, in the warm Spring sunshine, in the open grass, saying those words: _prick, suck_. They slither into Esca's ears like snakes and wriggle in his guts; horrifying, thrilling.

"I - yes..." Esca stutters. Marcus looks at him for a long, low beat, eyes radiant. Esca's cock feels like a solid flex of muscle now, fizzing with blood.

"Get it out for me then," Marcus says quietly. 

"I - what?"

"Your cock. Get it out for me. I want to see it."

Esca's fingers feel fat and clumsy as they stumble over the laces to his braccae. Part of him thinks this must be a dream, or perhaps some elaborate hoax - but no, there is Marcus, _his_ Marcus, fingers still curled against his hip, eyes bright and excited. The material of his braccae catches against the damp skin of his thighs, but he shimmies his hips, wriggles them down to his knees, his erection springing free and bouncing against his stomach. Marcus has propped himself up on his elbows, the better to watch.  
"Nice," he says softly, "Very nice. How handsome you are, my Esca, how thick and strong." He licks his lips and ghosts the tip of one finger along Esca's pulsing length.  
Esca's blood is roaring in his temples; he has to concentrate to breathe. Marcus seems to have no such trouble, placing his head near Esca's groin and inhaling deeply. 

"Mmmm," he murmurs. "My love. Sometimes I can smell you, and it drives me mad. Just the scent of you - you smell incredible. Musky and sweet. The smell of your sweat, your come. I want to bury my face there and never get up."

Now _Esca_ feels shy; shocked and mute. He cannot think of a word to say. He rubs his knuckles unsteadily down the side of Marcus' face. Marcus raises his eyes to Esca's briefly, and then he parts the plump spread of his lips and takes Esca in to all that wet welcoming warmth. It is like nothing else. It has been years - _years_ \- seven? eight? - since anyone has done this to Esca, and it is not something he ever thought would be done to him again. He has tried not to even imagine Marcus - beautiful, bronzed Marcus - doing this. But he had though if Marcus did he would be reticent, unpractised. At best, maybe he would be like Brys, an enthusiastic amateur. But the clever tongue that swirls around Esca now is no amateur's. Gods, Esca has known whores some forty winters old who used to follow his father's warriors to the battlefields less good at this than Marcus.

Esca is dimly aware that he is writhing and gasping, breath snagging in his throat as Marcus pulls off him to kiss and lick around the crown of Esca's prick, wet with his spit, his tongue teasing at the little slit he finds there. Marcus looks almost joyous, eyes huge and dark, face flushed and wanton, delicious mouth wet and tender looking. Esca can't hold back a moan as he watches Marcus slowly sink his lips back down over Esca's length, cheeks hollowed from sucking, eyes closing with the effort. When he feels Marcus' lips clench around the root of his cock he cannot help himself, he bucks up violently, hands raising to claw into Marcus' thick, dark hair. He feels Marcus' hands press down upon his narrow hips, settling him, holding his flushed, straining pelvis into the ground. The cool of the ring against the heat of his skin.

"Sorry, sorry," Esca gasps. Marcus pulls back off him slowly - stomach-curlingly slowly - but when his gaze meets Esca's he is smiling.

"You love this," he says, throat sore and scratchy sounding from Esca's cock.

"Yes, yes," Esca says desperately. Marcus bends to kiss the weeping tip of his prick again, gentle, gentle.

"You should have asked," he says. "If you wanted it so, you should have asked. From the moment I saw you I dreamed of getting on my knees for you, of playing the slave boy for you, of letting you have at me, pushing yourself down my throat."

"I didn't think... I thought Roman men did not..." Esca hesitates, unsure of what to say. 

Marcus gives that lazy, heart-wrenching smile again. "Maybe Roman men do not. But this one does. I _love_ doing this to you, Esca. I have _dreamed_ of it. I only thought that maybe it was not something that you did, or wanted, seeming as you never..."

Esca cuts him off. Later, there will be time for talking, but now he is pulled so tight with wanting he is in pain with it; his balls feel as ripe as summer plums. "Please, Marcus," he gasps. 

And just like that he is back in Marcus' mouth, deep, deep inside Marcus; and Marcus is placing his own hands over Esca's on his head, urging Esca to push him harder, to fuck into his mouth, to use him thoroughly. Then one hand slips away from Esca's and disappears down beneath Marcus' body where he lies long on the grass, and Esca knows he is rubbing himself, knows he is enjoying this as Esca is, that it is making him hard. That knowledge is enough to send Esca hurtling over the edge - soon, too soon - but it has been _so long_ and Marcus feels _so good_. Esca tightens his hands in Marcus' hair.

"Marcus... Shit, I'm going to come."

But Marcus just murmurs approvingly, tightening his mouth around Esca's cock even further, and then Esca is coming; great, glorious sprays of pleasure pluming around his body. He lies panting in the cool, young grass; still not quite believing what has just happened. After a while he becomes aware of the warm weight of Marcus, still pillowed on his belly.  
"Sorry," he murmurs, once again. "It has been a long time. A very long time."

Marcus crawls up him, grinning wolfishly. "Well, it won't be again. You can have me like this every night, if you wish it. I know I will never get tired of how you feel on my tongue, how you taste..."

Esca cards his fingers through Marcus' hair. 

"I had no idea," he says. Meaning: about everything.

"Well, now you know," Marcus replies. Meaning: the same.

They go back to work. Esca is happy. He is happy with his life, he is happy with his work on the farm, and he is happy with Marcus. Marcus; his friend, his brother, his _love_.


End file.
